


takes some time

by Liu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Len, Barry tries to help, Figuring Things Out, First Time, Len doesn't believe in sexual attraction, M/M, mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liu/pseuds/Liu
Summary: Barry feels like something is off after Len spends the night for the first time. He tries to figure out what it is, and helps Len figure things out as well.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written kind-of for Asexuality Awareness Week [(x)](http://pheuthe.tumblr.com/post/152240632277/ace-awareness-week-fanfic-challenge). And I'm a sucker for ace!Len who has gone his whole life without knowing.

It’s too quiet in the dark room when Barry rolls over and settles his cheek against the old, uneven scars covering Len’s arm. He reaches behind himself, fingers searching for the tangled mess of a sheet, and he pulls it over both of them, even though he knows that he should go and get at least a towel for both of them. But he doesn’t want to leave Len’s side, not when Len’s swallowing so hard that Barry can hear it, not when it feels like Len will disappear without saying a word if Barry so much as takes his eyes off the man.

It’s too much anxiety for an afterglow, and Barry shivers, sliding his arm over Len’s waist to keep him here, just a little while longer. This is the first time Len’s agreed to spend the night, and Barry never would’ve guessed that Captain Cold would be so old-fashioned, but it took nearly four months of dinners and movies and brunches, walks in the park and museum tours and hasty retreats after oddly convenient text messages or calls. Four months, and here they are now, naked and sweaty and (at least in Barry’s case) very much sated… and still, something feels wrong, like Len’s not wholly here, like he’s preparing to bolt.

“Talk to me,” Barry whispers in the dark, tracing what he can see in the sparse light filtering from the window. The dips and curves of Len’s chest, the sharp edge of his collarbone, the graceful column of his throat, stubble and tiny wrinkles and a scratch from yesterday’s shave. He’s tense, Barry can feel that under his fingers, muscle shifting and readying for flight, and it scares him, the thought that he’s not enough, that he’s fallen too deep while Len has been getting ready to say goodbye.

“About?” Len asks, and his voice sounds calm, but Barry’s not fooled - he’s learned to listen to Len’s body before his words, filled with bravado and bullshit most of the time. No; what Len says is always only half the story - his eyes and his mouth and his shoulders tell the rest, but right now, Barry doesn’t have the option to fully read the clues he can’t see.

Barry braces himself, and almost manages to believe that he’s not afraid of the answer.

“You… um. You didn’t… did I do something- or… didn’t do something…?”

He’s not making much sense, but maybe Len will understand, from the way Barry allows his arm to tighten its hold on Len’s waist, by the way his cheek presses a little harder into Len’s shoulder.

“You did nothing wrong,” Len says, quietly, and then pulls away, sliding his feet off the bed. Barry’s heart twists in his chest, but Len just sits on the edge of the mattress, shoulders hunched in the shadows and head bent, elbows propped on his knees like he’s supporting more than his own weight. Barry pushes himself up and reaches out, the need to touch Len and make sure he’s still here greater than the rational voice in his mind telling him to give Len his space. Barry’s never been great at ‘space’ at the best of moments, and he can’t help himself when he’s feeling so on edge, so afraid that Len _will_ walk out and put an end to whatever it is they’ve been doing. Len doesn’t shrug Barry’s hand off, but he doesn’t move either, just draws in a slow breath and leaves Barry hanging.

“But it sounds like I did nothing right,” Barry mutters. He knows for a fact that Len hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s been a little distant, yes, and Barry tried to be patient, tried not to overdo it when Len finally agreed to spend the night… but maybe, he miscalculated. Maybe he really did something to push Len away - his mind runs in a million directions at once, trying to come up with a way to backtrack, to make it all good again.

Len sighs, wordless, and shakes his head; he runs a hand over his close-cropped hair and Barry shifts closer, goosebumps breaking over his skin when his chest meets Len’s cool back.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again, and he can almost hear the wheels of Len’s complicated mind whirl. “You… didn’t like it? Just tell me, I can do something else, we’ll figure it out, I’ll make it good for you next time, I promise, I-”

“Barry.”

His name’s never sounded this final, and Barry hates it, presses his cheek against Len’s shoulderblade and exhales, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Please don’t leave.”

Cool fingers cover his own, firm and reassuring, and Barry can suddenly breathe a little bit easier.

“Not going anywhere. Sorry, kid. Didn’t wanna make you worry.”

“I won’t. Just… promise to tell me? If you didn’t like something. I really wanted it to be good for both of us.”

“It was fine. Really.”

“’Fine’ isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement,” Barry huffs into Len’s skin and shifts closer as he feels Len’s chuckle reverberating through his ribcage. 

“What do you want me to say?”

“Mmm,” Barry mumbles and turns his head, mouthing at the edge of Len’s shoulderblade, dragging his lips down the ridges of Len’s spine. He loves the way Len feels against him, the way they fit, and the thought that Len doesn’t think the same makes his stomach twist up into all kinds of unpleasant knots. “That I rocked your world? Fireworks going off and angels singing and so on. Hmmm. Maybe that you can’t wait for round two? That you’ll have a hard time, pun intended, looking at me tomorrow without dragging me off to bed?”

Barry slips his other arm around Len’s waist, and he feels the next chuckle through the contracting muscle in Len’s stomach, too.

“Afraid you’ll find that only in Harlequin paperbacks, Barry. Doesn’t really work in real world.”

That’s not an answer Barry was expecting - he blinks once, twice, and then pulls back a little, even though the only thing he can see in the dark, in this position, is the back of Len’s neck.

“Um… it kind of… does? I mean. The Flash suit’s not exactly hiding much. I don’t think you could’ve missed how much of a hard time I had last week.”

It was the worst kind of torture - the meta was spitting some weird acid and Len ended up waving his gun (and his arms, oh god, the _arms_ ) around in just an undershirt, a tight sleeveless thing that hugged him like a second skin and… yeah. Barry most definitely couldn’t hide his… interest.

But Len just snorts again and shakes his head, his short hair catching the stray light from the outside.

“Happens to all men. Doesn’t mean a thing, kid.”

“It happened because of _you_.”

How can Len not know that? Barry wasn’t exactly subtle when he kissed Len afterwards.

“No, it didn’t. You were high on adrenaline-”

“And you were half-naked in front of me - trust me, adrenaline didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“So what,” Len counters, tone switching to sharp and challenging, “you just looked at me and thought ‘I want to have sex’? Don’t be ridiculous.”

That one stings a little, but something deep down in Barry, something that draws from logic rather than hurt feelings, stops him from overreacting. Much. 

“Don’t you feel the same way about me?” he asks, slowly, and tries to overcome the hurt feelings crashing against his senses at the thought. Len brushes a hand over Barry’s forearm where it rests against Len’s hip, like he wants to placate his silly boyfriend. Barry kinda hates that it works, for a second.

“Nobody really does, kid. Sounds good in a movie, but it’s not what really happens.”

“It happens,” Barry insists and kisses Len’s shoulder, because, yeah, it very much happens when he’s around this man, and while the rational part of his brain is sending signals about what all of this can possibly mean, Barry still wishes, deep down, that he could make Len understand and believe it. “Every time I see you, it happens. And if you don’t- I- if you want to… stop, doing this, I-”  
  
He wants to say he’ll understand, that he’ll accept it, but he can’t get the words past his lips. His throat goes dry once again, but Len squeezes his arm and twists in the odd half-embrace, and Barry can’t see his eyes but he can feel Len looking at him the way he can always feel him halfway across the room, across the street, that intense blue gaze sliding over his skin like a lover’s caress. Barry shivers and swallows, and then Len’s kissing him, slow and sweet. It’s awkward because of the angle, but also kind of perfect and exactly what he needs right now, so Barry doesn’t complain about the crick in his neck.

Len whispers ‘I love you’ against his lips and Barry can’t help the gasp that escapes him - that’s the first time Len’s said it, that either of them has said it, and it makes Barry’s heart dance in all sorts of potentially unhealthy ways. He laughs a little, and that’s probably not an appropriate response, but when he tries to deepen the kiss, Len pulls away again.

_Talk about mixed signals there,_ Barry thinks, but gives Len those few inches of space that he seems to need. It gives _him_  space, as well, to think about how to phrase the things they really, really need to talk about, if they’ve got any chance of making this work. And Barry wants nothing more than make this work with Len: but the elephant in the room will not disappear if they don’t talk about it. Barry knows - he has tried that approach before, and it got him nowhere really fast. 

“So… you don’t want to sleep with me?” he tries slowly, and Len tenses under his hands again. He doesn’t speak, and that makes Barry feel like he’s on to something, but that he’s not getting it completely right. God, there’s no easy way to do this except bluntly. “Or do you… uh. You don’t like sex?”

“Told you, Barry, it was fine. Stop twisting yourself into knots,” Len sighs, and cards his long fingers through Barry’s hair, making his eyes close against the sensation. “I understand. With your metabolism, you’re gonna need it more often. Fine by me. We’ll work something out.”

Barry struggles not to let himself be pulled under by the blunt nails against his scalp - for someone who doesn’t believe that people really want to sleep with other people, Len’s really damn good at this. But that’s the issue here; and Barry can’t leave well enough alone even in situations when it really would be better for everyone involved, so of _course_ he can’t shut his mouth and just go with the flow.

“You think if I weren’t the Flash, I would want you less?” he asks, and it really comes out more like a groan, because Len’s fingers are divine and should be worshipped and Barry shivers just thinking about those fingers in lots of other places. Which is not what he should be thinking about right _now_ , not in the middle of this particular talk.

Len kisses the corner of his mouth, his jaw, down his neck, and Barry’s never really noticed, but Len’s kisses always feel so tender, like he’s taking his time. Barry never thought about them as sensual more than sexual, but now, he’s starting to wonder.

“Obviously.”

“So,” Barry starts, and has to swallow so he doesn’t groan out loud as Len finds that particular spot just over his collarbone that makes his body start to take interest in the proceedings. “So. Have you ever… ah… wanted anyone? Like. Looked at someone and thought you wanted that person?”

“Never been a meta,” Len smirks, asshole that he is, and his amusement brushes in a gust of warm air over Barry’s skin. Well, in its own way, it’s an answer alright, though Barry’s not sure how Len could’ve gone forty years without someone telling him that being attracted to people was an actual, real thing that people felt. Though when Barry thinks back to what Len and Lisa said about their father, and then Len’s life in and out of a prison cell… maybe that’s where it got a little bit complicated. 

“Len?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Are you… do you think you could be… asexual?”

The kisses stop and Len pulls back, turning away in one swift, cold motion, tension seeping back into his posture as he goes rigid under Barry’s touch.

“No,” he snaps, harsh and sharp, like a gunshot in the quiet room - but before Barry can start to panic, he feels the swallow and the slight tremor as Len’s hands clench into fists, and the man’s voice softens, barely audible over the sound of Barry’s heart hammering away against his ribs. “What’s that mean, exactly?”

There’s a voice in Barry’s head yelling at him not to screw this up, not to mess up this one chance he has to get this right - but he can’t think too long, not with Len taut like a bowstring under his hands, ready to snap.

“It’s… some people like guys, and some prefer women, or both, and… some don’t like anyone like that?”

“I like _you_ ,” Len sneers, and Barry mentally curses, then counts to ten (at Flash speed) before continuing.

“I like you too. But when I look at you, I feel like… I want to touch you. And pull your shirt off, and kiss you, and take you to bed and never let you go, you know? And I felt like that about a few people even before I was struck by lightning. It’s cool if you don’t, though, I just… I thought you should know that there are others who feel the same way?”

Len’s quiet, for a very long time that makes Barry want to start rambling again, just to diffuse the tension. But he recognizes it’s a lot to process and he furiously bites his lips, barely giving his powers the time to regenerate the abused skin, just so he won’t screw things up. Because he can almost feel Len thinking, tension seeping out and creeping back in several times before Len almost sags in Barry’s arms, head hanging low and fingers tightening around Barry’s hand.  
  
“So what does that mean?” he asks quietly, and there’s something about his tone that makes Barry’s heart break, just a little. Because he knows that Len’s not asking what it means for _him -_ he wants to know what this means for _them_  and Barry wishes he could be selfless enough to tell Len to go, figure things out, think about whether this is what he wants… but he can’t.

“It means I’m still here,” he says instead, and pulls Len flush against his chest, arms wrapping around Len’s waist and holding on as Barry mutters the rest against the curve of Len’s shoulder, sharp and hard and so intensely familiar after just four months, after just one night, that Barry can’t imagine letting go. “As long as you want me to be. You said we’ll work things out, and I’m here for that. Always.”

It takes a while, but eventually, Len breathes out a quiet ‘yeah’, and Barry’s heart leaps. He feels exhausted, all of a sudden, and he can’t think of anything better than sleeping with Len in his arms; it speaks volumes that Len lets him, for maybe five minutes of tired snuggling, before he declares them both gross and decides they both need a shower and a fresh set of sheets before he’s willing to even consider sleeping.

Barry gives him a mock salute and a quick kiss as he marches obediently into the bathroom, waving towards the dresser where sheets are.

They might be a work in progress, but when, twenty minutes later, Len comes back and curls against Barry like he belongs there, Barry presses his nose into Len’s skin and smells his own soap there and thinks that they’re gonna be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr.](http://pheuthe.tumblr.com/)


End file.
